Exile
by ErinHasse
Summary: The clone's anatomy was horribly off - it was too skinny, too short, too...young. Leonardo knew that he should just kill it off; it was just a clone. Just a clone - with his baby brother's face. And as he learns later, his brother's soul and heart as well. 2k12 meets 2k3, sort of.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own TMNT, unfortunately. However, if I did, it would be hella more disturbing and borderline horrific.

oOoOo

I.

He should have ignored it.

He should have let it die, should have let it be swept into the angry currents of the river.

Leonardo swore under his breath, his fingers clutching the hilt of his sword. His bloodshot eyes were kept firmly on the large, green creature he had dragged out of the angry currents of the river, looking for any sign of movement that could give him the signal to kill.

Unfortunately for Leonardo, the creature he regrettably saved didn't so much as stir. If Leonardo had bothered to do so, he would have noticed that the small, thin, and unsurprisingly lean man-sized mutant turtle was out cold due to a large bruise on his head.

However, all Leonardo could see was a man in a black suit with sunglasses hiding the mocking amusement showing in the not-human human man's eyes, taunting him from somewhere unreachable.

Damn that Bishop.

Leonardo didn't know how Bishop even knew he was in Central America, and though he knew very well it was actually a stretch to blame the small turtle mutant's existence on Bishop – whom he actually hadn't heard from for months now – Bishop was the only one who had both the technology and staff to recreate mutant turtles that looked like him and his brothers.

Glancing down, Leonardo grimaced. Obviously this one was a failure – it was too small, too short, too thin. Its legs were too long, the hands too big, and Leonardo didn't need the creature to open its eyes to see that they would be too big. The little thing was probably a mix of all their DNA. It was lean, yes, but the blue-banded turtle doubted that the creature had any sort of formal training. More than likely, Bishop could only have its scientist's inject in physical memories, and then gave the experiment a test of sorts – something to gauge if the experiment was up to par with the originals, perhaps even better.

Obviously, the creature failed, if the extensive injuries on its being said anything.

It was hardly breathing, and the gaping cuts on its arms were seeping out more than enough blood to make the river pinkish. It would not last long.

It would be merciful, honestly, to cut him down now and be done with it – at least then the creature wouldn't have to suffer. Raising his sword, Leonardo visually aimed for the little thing's neck.

A muffled groan.

Leonardo stopped midway into his attack. The creature mumbled something under his breath, voice so incredibly hoarse. Looking now, Leonardo was stunned to see that the experiment was badly dehydrated, malnourished too. Why would Bishop willingly starve his experiment? Wouldn't it make sense to keep the experiment alive and healthy?

Shaking his head, Leonardo brought his sword up again –

"Leo…"

And let it clatter to the ground, barely missing the creature.

Horror crawled up the blue-banded turtle's back like long, black tendrils seeking to choke him to his death. He knew that voice. Gods, he _knew _that voice.

The creatu – no, _mutant_ – the mutant whimpered again, calling out his name in a heart-stopping familiar sense of desperate fright.

Leonardo knew that voice. Never mind that it had been a few years since Michelangelo had started his voice breaking days, this mutant, undeniably, had Michelangelo's – _his_ _baby_ _brother_ – voice.

It was likely that this mutant had the rest of his brother's attributes too – his laughter, his thoughts, ideals and so painfully large heart that had more than enough room for every single one of his friends and family members.

_Damn that Bishop._

Leonardo scowled at himself for his weakness – _pick up the damn blade and be done with it!_

His mind screamed at him to finish this perverse clone of his brother, that this mutant wasn't Michelangelo, wasn't his baby brother who could light up an entire room just by smiling.

And yet the rest of him seemed to like being frozen on the spot, eyes firmly attached to the mutant who was beginning to groan in pain at his feet.

This was not Michelangelo.

Yet he was.

With shaking fingers, Leonardo bent down and tried to grip at his sword's hilt properly, failing miserably as he did so. He could feel the beads of cold sweat running down his being, the way his muscles were much too stiff at the face of this…mutant.

Leonardo knew that he should kill the mutant. He should before the mutant became a threat to him and his family. His brothers, his family and friends – they all came first before his own selfish needs.

Leonardo turned on his heel.

…So why was he turning back? Why was he running away from the stranger with his brother's face?

As he ran, Leonardo heard a voice mock him in his head.

_Selfish, moralistic fool._

oOoOo

Author's Notes: In case you, dear reader, haven't figured it out yet, this is a 2k12 meets 2k3 'verse. This time, I have 2k12!Mikey transported into Central America where 2k3!Leo is still angsting. I have absolutely no idea how long this story is gonna be – so I'm just gonna let the tides of the story take me where it does.

P.S. Am I the only one who can't find the Line button in Doc Manager?


	2. Chapter 2

Michelangelo woke up to the sound of water rushing all around him.

The first thought that entered his mind was:

_That smells so gross – what the heck did Raph eat?_

Then, the small teenager inhaled, and his nostrils were promptly assaulted with a pungent, metallic smell that made his now noticeably aching chest burn with a cough.

_Blood—_

Immediately, the bandless turtle's instincts kicked in and tried to stand at attention. The rest of him, however, wasn't inclined to agree and his legs quickly fell out from under him. Michelangelo fell to the ground In a crumpled heap, coughs racking his body and tearing at his dry, dry throat.

_Water—_

Both his hands went to grip at his throat when he began to taste blood on his tongue. His eyes were screwed shut, but he didn't need sight to know he was coughing up blood, and a lot of it. When he finished, a shudder ran up his spine and he drew his knees up, wincing at the sharp pain going up his legs as he did so.

_How long have I been out?_

All he could smell was blood and sweat, his legs were probably broken, his chest hurt like Raph slammed a Bo staff into it, and he was colder than that time he accidentally forgot to heat up the water during the winter and promptly jumped in it.

And just like that time when he was just too injured to think properly, his mind began to fade with every passing second. And before he succumbed into the deepest recesses of his mind, he caught a lingering scent of someone comfortingly familiar. A smile almost stretched across his lips if it hadn't been too painful to do so.

_Leo._

OoOo

He was drifting in and out of consciousness, as weird as that sounded in his head. He wasn't sure why, but his eldest brother was standing about two feet away from him, not moving. Maybe Leo was injured? Michelangelo couldn't tell, though, because his own blood was keeping him from sniffing out his brother's scent.

But then a sword dropped so near him that it made his heart leap into the bandless turtle's throat, and the flinch he reacted with made his legs ache again. A low groan escaped his throat.

_Ooh, that _hurt. _Did I get run over or something?_

It certainly felt like it. However, his minds quickly went to another thought. Was he still fighting? Where were Raph and Donnie? _Who _exactly was he fighting before he went down for the count?

Was Leo safe?

Seconds later, Michelangelo almost snorted. Of course Leo was safe. He was, like, the best ninja out of the four of them, and he was the leader, and he was totally calm and smart and always had a plan!

Letting the smallest of smiles grace his lips, Mikey let himself fall back into unconsciousness, fully believing that his older brother wouldn't let any harm come to him, completely and utterly unaware how close he'd come to dying.

oOoOo

It was only hours later that Michelangelo came to his senses.

Cracking open one eye, the bandless turtle felt a jolt of shock go through him when he saw just _how _much he had bled. There was at least a pint or two's worth of blood on the ground, and the ground was damp with water from the nearby river. All in all, the mud looked so very red that it was almost unnatural.

Michelangelo tested his fingers, finding them numb but fairly usable. When he found that the same applied to the rest of him, he slowly, very slowly, get up on his knees. Lifting one leg, he prepared himself for the searing pain to travel up his leg.

He winced, barely biting back a small scream of pain when he accidentally jerked his leg when he did so. Now free of the metallic smell clogging his sinuses, Michelangelo took in a great whiff.

And promptly started coughing out of surprise.

_Where—_

He had never smelled this place before. The scent was vaguely reminiscent of a jungle, but the bandless turtle wasn't sure because he had never been to a jungle before because—

_There were no jungles in New York._

Gulping down the urge to panic, his eyes rapidly darted all over the place. A clearing. He was in a small clearing. He was beside a really chaotic river and his entire body _hurt and nobody was here—_

"I need to calm down," he wheezed to himself, placing his palms flat on the sides of his head, "I need to calm _down_. Everything is gonna be alright, right?"

His only answer was the angry currents of the river, the silent rustling of the leaves and the sound of his own heavy, wet breathing.

His heart started to pound in his throat.

"…_right?_"


	3. Chapter 3

"_What do you mean you've let them escape?_"

It was a testament to the strength of his very presence when the scientists all cowered at his calm, level voice.

He steered his gaze towards the cowering young woman shaking at his very presence, her arms shakily in front of her to form some sort of flimsy shield, "Dr. Hasse," he said, "What, pray tell, possessed you to set the experiments free?"

She sputtered incoherently, and the man took one step forward before the dam broke, "T-the experiment h-h-had grown t-too powerful, s-s-s-sir!"

"Too powerful?" Bishop parroted, his tone flat but completely disbelieving, "That skinny, little thing? That _failure?_"

"I—"

She shrieked when he brought his foot down on her stomach, hard. She gasped, feeling her ribs crack into pieces while the other scientists looked on in horror. Blood spewed out of her mouth, and she curled into a ball on her side, coughing relentlessly.

The man didn't spare her a glance when he turned to the other scientists. They flinched when he opened his mouth, saying, "See to it this won't happen again. I will not tolerate failure."

He quietly stalked out of the labs, leaving a bleeding woman on the floor and the rest of the department scared witless.

oOoOo

Idly, Michelangelo wondered if he was going insane.

_No, you aren't._

Now, the bandless turtle wasn't _quite _the sharpest in the conventional knife drawer, but he was fairly sure that a voice talking to you in your head didn't really fit in the 'sane' category.

_Listen, the_ disembodied voice hissed into Michelangelo's mind, _You're in great danger—_

"_Please tell me I'm not going to be a green, mutant Harry Potter,_" Michelangelo groaned to no one in particular, half consciously rubbing at his sore plastron, "I don't wanna be the Turtle-Who-Lived-Just-So-He'd-Be-Hunted-By-Some-Creepy-Snake-Guy-Who-Wants-His-Body."

Pausing, the teenager reanalyzed his sentence, and promptly shuddered.

_…That sounded so wrong._

"So, _so _wrong," Michelangelo muttered, then shivered as a cold gust of the night air brushed against his skin, "And it so, _so cold._"

It had been an approximate 13 hours, 15minutes, and 23 seconds since the bandless turtle had woken up smack dab in the middle of a poor Jungle Book imitation with large open wounds littering his being and bruises of all sizes decorating him with various colors.

Currently, he was curled up inside a plant with very, very large leaves some meters away from the river. He didn't have any gauze, and the vines he found would only dirty the wounds he had. He didn't know most of the plants he saw, and didn't want to take the chance of picking some random plant, hope it was an herb only to find out later that it was some potent poison that was incurable.

No matter what Raph said, Michelangelo was just not _that _stupid.

_I'd beg ta differ._

Michelangelo blinked, raising his head a fraction from his arms.

_Come on, shellbrain, I'm right here._

The bandless turtle squinted.

_...In your head._

And promptly let his jaw drop.

oOoOo

It was busy that night.

Leonardo suppressed a grimace when one of the bandits kicked a child into the ground, loud and raucous laughter floating to where he hid among the treetops. The child sniffled, fat tears rolling down chubby cheeks with his knees and elbows skinned raw. One of the bandits sneered and spat out something in Spanish, and the child began to wail.

The rest of the hostages sat back, cowering in fear.

Leonardo narrowed his eyes, silently unsheathing his sword.

(_One, two – eight, ten – eleven, thirteen – eighteen in all. Eighteen stabs and hits and muffled screams._)

"_Monste—!_"

He made quick work of the bandits.

The blue-banded turtle swiftly took the child into his arms, noting that he had passed out from exhaustion, most likely. The other hostages were all blinking teary, but relieved and confused eyes. They hadn't noticed him when he took the bandits out.

Good.

He whispered unintelligible words, letting the wind carry them to the dazed ex-hostages. One of them snapped their head back, to find the little boy who disappeared moments before the assault on the bandits began. One of the women had started to cry, and rushed over to the limp but alive form of her son.

But Leonardo didn't have the time to sit back and watch the family reunion.

It had been faint, almost imperceptible, but he heard it – smelled it in the air, saw the quietness.

There was another massacre waiting to happen.

oOoOo

Michelangelo wished he was deaf.

_Listen, shell for brains, I'm real –_

"No, no you're not," the bandless one's voice was borderline hysterical, "Oh my gosh, _oh my gosh,I'm going insane –_"

_You're not going insane! _, the voice changed; less gruff, less rough, _Listen to me – can't you recognize my voice?! It's me, Leo—_

"Liar," the teenager breathed, "_Liar, liar, liar. _He was here – before. Some time ago. And he's coming back soon."

(Maybe.)

The voice was quiet for a few minutes, then spoke up; _He's an imposter. It's me, Donnie. Look, think about this logically, okay? –_

Good God, their voices. _Their voices. _

_…That guy couldn't possibly be Leo. I mean, Leo wouldn't have left you here alone and injured. He would have made up some sort of plan and taken care of you._

"Food," Michelangelo honed in on the thought like a madman, "He just left for food. Maybe hunting – that's what's taking him so long."

The voice sounded frustrated, _Thirteen hours of hunting? Yeah, right! That guy was just some other-Leo. So what if he had the same scent? You were practically drowning in blood – you could have mistaken him for Leo. Not to mention: Leo would never abandon you like this._

"Leo hasn't abandoned me," Michelangelo squeaked, "He's coming back."

oOoOo

It was a busy night.

Leonardo's eyes narrowed when he spotted the bandit's caravan situated at the riverside.

oOoOo

Author's Notes: I want to thank you all for all the views, reviews, faves and follows! ^^


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

A young man with almost obnoxiously bright red hair and freckles dotting his face was the first of the hostages Leonardo saw trickle into the large caravan of bandits. The red head's back was to him, his hands bound with rope but his legs were free. Leonardo deduced that the rest of the hostages were in a similar predicament, watching as the bandits all but shoved the young man to the ground face first.

A deep frowned tugged at the turtle's lips when the bandits jeered, continuing to kick the red head into the dirt while an accomplice decided to violently rip at the young man's clothing to get any and all sorts of valuable items off his being. The red head coughed out blood, biting down on his lips to muffle any screams that might want to come out. Even when the bandits decided to take turns kicking his stomach, even when the blood began to trickle down the young man's chin, he hadn't uttered a single word, not a single sign of discomfort.

In fact, if Leonardo were inclined to say his observations, the red head looked like he was used to such severe beatings.

He frowned.

Careful not to make any noise, the blue-banded turtle silently jumped away from his hiding spot among the treetops and began to formulate a plan.

_oOoOo_

_Leo, this is bad._

_I know that, Donnie, but if Mikey doesn't want to believe—_

"I didn't eat any mushrooms right?" Michelangelo muttered, almost hysterically patting his hands over his bruised plastron as carefully as he could, "Nah, I'm pretty sure I didn't. Nope. No, siree," he gave out a nervous laugh, "It must be the jungle. Yeah. It's totally the jungle. Who knows how much crazy stuff is there in here? I must've breathed in some sort of poison pollen –"

_…Poison pollen? Really?_

_Well it _does _make you sneeze._

It had been an approximate 3 hours since the voices started to talk in his head, but Michelangelo was resolutely marching along the lines of 'Ignorance is pure, golden _bliss._' The voices who claimed to be his brothers were still trying to coax him into performing whatever evil plan they made in not-Donnie's evil cauldron –

_Cauldron?! That was a perfectly normal ceramic pestle commonly used for crushing herbs!_

_Snort. Ya heard that, brainiac? I snorted at you._

_Yeah? Well then let me sneer at you. _Sneer_. There._

_Donnie, Raph – this is _so_ not the time to be fighting._

Michelangelo shuddered from something that wasn't even remotely related to the cold night air. Wrapping his arms around himself without brushing his wounds, the bandless turtle craned his neck, eyes surveying the environment.

The entire place was pitch black – in a human's eyes anyway. Because of his animal genes and the mutagen running in his veins (more or less), Michelangelo could still see fairly well in the dark. And after staying in the darkness for so long, the abrupt light and laughter was like a beacon. A strange, completely unsafe beacon that he should really get away from, but a beacon nonetheless.

Michelangelo peeked in between the leaves of the plant, and sucked in a deep breath when he saw a long line of men, women and children all tied and gagged walking in a straight line like they were marching up to be slaughtered.

_They look like captives…_

Michelangelo willed the voice that sounded like Donnie to shut up and let him concentrate. The amount of people trickling in slowly rose. His heart was pounding in his throat. One of the human captives – bright red hair, freckles, tall, lanky and completely beaten – sat too close to him for comfort. Michelangelo could already hear the red head breathing raggedly from where he hid, the blood trickling down the human's chin glistening in the moonlight.

He reeled away, tucking himself further into the leaves with his stomach sinking. He should be helping. He should be out there, 'Booyakasha!' and all, smacking his nunchucks into whatever villain/ bad-guy that was nearest to him.

But he wasn't.

And Michelangelo hated it.

oOoOo

Leonardo had an almost leisurely time taking out the guards. Night had started to creep away, the barest slivers of light appearing in the horizon.

He had to make this quick.

Spotting another guard, the blue-banded turtle ducked behind the stack of crates – rations for the road most likely – just as two more bandits started to walk out into the open.

_"¿Qué le dijo el cliente quiere con toda esta gente?"_ one of them asked. Leonardo, with his meager knowledge of the Spanish language, was only able to catch the words 'what' and 'client'.

"_No sé, y no me importa una mierda, siempre y cuando el chico paga hasta. La captura de esta cantidad de gente no fue fácil, maldita sea,"_ the other bandit grunted, passing by the blue-banded turtle's hiding place.

Frowning at the lack of information, Leonardo crept along the shadows, easily slipping from the crates to the treetops, silently.

Peering through the thick leaves, Leonardo spotted one large caravan – light green with black stripes and tinted, likely to be bulletproof glass windows (dammit) – parked among several others, all of the smaller ones painted plain white or grey, with the same tinted bulletproof glass windows (double dammit).

_Those things are going to make it hard for us to break the hostages out._

Ignoring the mental statement, Leonardo's eyes swept over the terrain. The entire clearing was wide – too wide for him to properly dispose of the bandits. There were hostages filling almost every single square meter of dry grass, with bandits crawling everywhere – either as guards or were getting their kicks out of beating the women and children.

No doubt there were more hostages in the caravans. And because of the fact that they were fairly close to the road more or less, they were either going to be going soon or they were waiting for their companions.

Neither situation was favorable for him.

Biting back a disgruntled mumble, Leonardo jumped down from the treetops once more –

And towards the only source of shelter in the middle of the clearing, a large, leafy plant towering over 5 feet.

oOoOo

_Just lay low, Mikey—_

_Yeah, even if ya want to smash those bandits' shellbrains in, ya don't got any weapons—_

_Nor do you have a plan of action—_

_I know how to think for myself, darnit!_

The three impostor-voices in his head went silent at Michelangelo's mental shout. Breathing in a deep, deep breath, Michelangelo took every single ounce of will and discipline he could muster and managed not to shout out loud.

The red head shifted from where he sat, and Michelangelo stiffened.

_…Mikey—_

_You need to get—_

The leaves rustled. Leaves crunched under the weight of whoever was now standing near to the plant he was hiding in. Michelangelo couldn't _breathe._

He began to crawl back, moving as quietly as possible. The leaves rustled again, an engine started from somewhere to the left of him, someone shouting, _shallow, wet breathing—_

Green eyes met blue ones.

And the blood from the red head's injury dripped over Michelangelo's skin.

oOoOo

Leonardo dragged the bodies under the bushes, carefully arranging various leaves over them as inconspicuously as possible.

The pungent, metallic smell of blood invaded his senses, and Leonardo grimaced at the smell. Turning away from the impromptu graves, he shifted his attention back to the hostages. The red head he had seen earlier had become some sort of focal point for him, considering the human had been at the deepest part of the bandit camp. But when he couldn't immediately see the bright red beacon in the mass of dirty blonde and brown and black hairs, the blue-banded turtle frowned.

The sound of an engine starting had him hissing.

One of the bandits began to shout in Spanish, ushering the others to do whatever they had to do with the hostages. Bandits of all shapes and sizes began to surround the hostages, more than a few of them shamelessly undressing women as they drag them into the caravans. The high pitched screams echoed through the trees and pierced into Leonardo's conscience.

oOoOo

"Who—" Michelangelo's statement was cut off when the red head slapped his palm flat against his mouth. The human raised a single digit to his lips, locking his green eyes with the bandless teenager.

Michelangelo nodded dumbly, wide-eyed and honestly amazed at the fact the human wasn't screaming at the top of his lungs. The red head sighed, his shoulders sagging in evident relief. At least, until he winced and clutched at his stomach with a small groan. Michelangelo went to the human, "Are you okay?"

_Of course he's not okay!_

_Mikey, get out of there! They're going to find you!_

"You should go," the red head rasped, "They're going to find you."

"What—?"

Two human hands pressed against his plastron and pushed him out. High pitched screams pierced through the air, and he could see the red head whipping his head back towards the caravans. Michelangelo landed unceremoniously on the ground, barely biting back a groan as he fell on his head.

The red head burst from the leaves and ran away, and Michelangelo didn't need to look to know that the numerous feet trampling towards him were the bandits – no doubt to check on the noise. Stupid paranoia.

"I'm over here you damn wankers!"

The bandless turtle rasped as the voice – the red head – taunted the bandits, the human's voice echoing from somewhere to the left of the plantation hiding Michelangelo. The trampling was redirected, and Michelangelo ignored the sharp pain shooting up from his back.

_…He led them away._

Black patches began to cloud his vision. His head started to throb, the soreness in his limbs catching up to him. He couldn't feel a thing, not even while he could clearly see his wounds reopening.

_I need to help him._

Closing his eyes, he tried to get up.

_You need to rest. I can hear the engines starting. The bandits are going away._

_Lay low, bro. Stay safe._

…And failed miserably. Michelangelo curled into a ball on the ground, letting out a small groan of pain when the throbbing in his head began to pound. And becase of this, he didn't catch the end sentence of the fake-Raphael voice.

_I'll take care of them for you._

oOoOo

It was when he found the red head running passed him that Leonardo recognized the familiar scent lingering on the human's being.

Leonardo grit his teeth.

_Damn Bishop._

Author's Notes:

Edit: Sooo, I took time out of my studying and laundry day to edit a few scenes. Nothing too big, just some clarifications. I didn't realize that I was being too vague with the human red head :/

Translation:

_"¿Qué le dijo el cliente quiere con toda esta gente?" – "What did the client want with all these people?"_

_"No sé, y no me importa una mierda, siempre y cuando el chico paga hasta. La captura de esta cantidad de gente no fue fácil, maldita sea." – "I don't know and I don't give a shit as long as the guy pays up. Capturing this many people wasn't easy dammit."_

Damn this was long 0-0. Also; a nice BIG thank you for all the views, reviews, faves and follows you all have given to this story. You guys probably don't know how much I squeal whenever I see that I got a review ^^ (I honestly didn't expect it to get this much demographic O_O)

I might not be able to post anything anytime soon, though, college exams and all that.

Have a Good Day :D


	5. Chapter 5

V.

Green met milky white, pupil less eyes.

The red head – _nothimtoonothim__**too **_– stopped, staring up at his hidden figure with his jaw slack. The bandits, however, didn't quite see what was so interesting about the tree and decided to jump at his turned back.

The human stumbled down, and Leonardo could barely make him out while he punched and scratched and kicked and never screamed. The bandits struggled to hold him down, each one being thrown off or punched back.

(Each time Leonardo ignored the way he winced at the too familiar voice grunting and hissing in pain.)

The blue-banded turtle wavered, eyes flickering between the human that smelled too much like his brother and the captives that were beginning to sob. A few of the children already were.

_…Leave him. He will be a fitting distraction._

Leonardo tried not to cringe when the voice in his head spoke up. He knew it wasn't normal. He knew it meant he was slowly losing himself in this jungle of a trip for leadership.

But it…_he…_ was right.

One human sacrifice, for the lives of every single other captive. It was what a _real _leader would do. Sacrifice one for the good of all.

_Sacrifice one for the good of all._

Watching for a few more minutes, Leonardo's fingers went to the hilt of his sword.

…And he jumped down to run towards the terrified captives.

oOoOo

It sucked being human.

Well, it was more among the lines of the fact that it sucked being human when you grew up used to being a mutant turtle. Or maybe this difficulty to adapt was just him?

He could feel himself growing numb from the attacks. The bandits never seemed to stop, always attacking and piercing and stabbing.

_'Oow…'_

He grunted when one of them managed to sink a knife into his abdomen. Great.

"_Fucking kid! Someone kill him and dispose of the body!_" one of the bandits yelled in the background, highbrow English and all.

He kicked the prick with the knife off him, taking the bandit's knife in the process. Blindly, he lashed out. Judging by the way one of the bandits to his left screamed, he hit something. Good. _Feel the pain, prick. _He swung, left and right, back and front – enough to make the bandits back away and give him some room to scramble to his feet.

He growled and charged at the bandits – who were trying to sneak up on him – sweeping their legs out from under them. He kicked one of them in the stomach for good measure before swiping his machete.

Blood trickled from wherever he was hit on the head or whatever earlier that day, but that was okay. He coughed, the pungent, metallic taste of blood smearing his sense of taste while the bandits began to charge at him once more. Raising the machete, holding it like he would a sword, he brought it down and it connected with some poor sap's arm. Kicking the bandit away, he swung again to his left, his strike reaching all the way to his back. Warm blood splattered against his skin, but that was okay.

He shoved the two bandits he cut – Still alive but clutching at their open stomachs – into the fray and they took down three more under them.

Panting, he spat out the blood rising from his aching stomach.

_Just until Mikey gets away…._

He just hoped that his brother wasn't too injured to move. But if he was…

He grimaced, dodging a poorly thrown punch. Grabbing the bandit's arm and using his own momentum against him, the red head threw the older man over his shoulder and into the pricks behind him.

They went down, and he started to stagger.

…If Mikey was indeed unable to move due to his injuries, he'd have to take care of all these bandits.

Not good.

He scowled.

This was turning out to be a crappier day than the one when that sunglasses-creep decided to take them.

"Damn Bishop," he growled out loud.

(It didn't help when he snuck a look at the tree he was gawking at earlier to find that Leo-look-alike gone. And the bandit that tried to off him when he wasn't looking made his mood worse.)

oOoOo

A.N.: Short Chapter. Gotta go. Sorry, but exams and school and college and clubs and demanding muses (In a short lapse of self-advertising, please check out **Exacerbate.** **It's my new, drabble-format TMNT fanfic about Leo crashing through time and into his father's former clan grounds XD In there, you will meet Mini! Yoshi and Mini! Saki. Possibly Mini! Tang Shen as well.** It's what I've been doing instead of making my projects. Thus, leaving me rushing like a maniac today.)-

**Also, HUGE thanks to all the views, reviews and faves and follows ^^**

Sorry I can't reply to each and everyone, but…real life y'know? Sucks the happy AND energy out of me. But I'm still really grateful for all the feedback ^^

*Begins to bow dramatically*

Have a good day!


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

It was surprising, the speed and strength the captives still had despite the fact that they looked like they hadn't eaten in days. Perhaps it was adrenaline.

Leonardo watched the last of the captives run between the trees, disappearing into the forest. He wasn't worried about them getting lost – most were from the village, and the villagers knew the terrain as though the entire jungle was their backyard.

The blue-banded turtle did a small head count as they exited, picking off bandits in an almost idle manner as he did so while keeping an eye out for ambushes. Multi-tasking at its finest, Mikey would say.

_Which one? _

He ignored that little statement and concentrated at his task – and discovered that there were more than fifty captives. Leonardo frowned. The number was too large for a simple raid, most bandits killed their victims. (Not counting the women they took as sex slaves sometimes. Leonardo remembered the first time he raided a bandit hideout only to find the leader balls deep inside a terrified woman. There was no hesitation in him that day. Off with his head.)

The blue banded turtle, though, knew that bandits were sometimes commissioned by city gangs or other members of the underground society. For what? Slaves, mostly. The ones they could put into working at marijuana plantations, drug testers, sex slaves, child soldiers – Leonardo purposely cut off that train of thought with a grimace when a pair of green eyes appeared once more in the forefront of his mind.

He had thought that he'd made the right choice, after all, weren't all the captives now safe? One life is a fair sacrifice for fifty more. It was the right choice…

Oh who was he kidding?

Leonardo felt disgusted with himself. He had failed that person. He left him to get captured by those bandits, probably to get shipped off to somewhere he'd never see his family again. Where he'd be subjected to every kind of mental torture out there. Where he'd be left to die in a rut after burning out his usefulness. Like a dog.

So what if he smelled like Raph? So what if he was probably another clone? A life was a life – and Leonardo failed him.

Just like he failed that other clone.

Leonardo's mind flittered back to, what he dubbed, 'The Other Mikey'. Other was so small, so weak, and so damned helpless. His instinct should have screamed at him to save the kid – because, really, Other was nothing more than just that, a kid – to stop and treat his wounds at least before going his way.

But what did he do? He left. He ran with his tail between his legs, leaving a child to fend for himself in the dirt. Unconscious. Vulnerable. And because of what? Because of his paranoia, his fear. That thrice-damned voice in his head that kept telling him to do 'the right choice'.

Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. But Leonardo knew that a good, no, _great _leader would have found a way to save everyone without needing to sacrifice a man on his team. Gods, what if a situation like this had arisen back then? Leonardo blanched at the thought of sacrificing his brothers. The image of Other, looking too much and too little like his Mikey, dead on a blood-stained floor, left his blood cold.

Unbidden, his feet began to walk towards the river, where he had left Other. If the kid was still alive, Leonardo would take care of his wounds and then…

And then…what?

Pulling himself out of his musings, Leonardo decided to take his next course of action after treating Other.

oOoOo

Other had been in the premises the entire time. How the kid had managed to crawl up all the way here with the extent of his injuries was beyond him.

_He's stronger than I gave him credit for._

Leonardo didn't know whether to be proud of the fact or not.

Other stirred under the blanket the blue-banded turtle had draped over him, sleeping beside the fire. Leonardo looked out the cave he had made their temporary camp, noting the fifth new moon he'd seen since he left home and friends and family.

Leonardo carefully pulled out a sheet of crumpled paper from inside one of his pouches. It was a letter, the first one he'd received since he left.

_Dear Leo;_

_Mikey here—_

Leo spared a glance over the top of the well-read letter towards Other. Finding him fast asleep, he continued on, despite the fact he probably memorized the thing word-for-word.

_So guess what? Wait. That's a bit stupid huh? You can't really guess right now and, well, anyways, guess what? I got a job! _

_Well, actually, we all got jobs since it's been so quiet nowadays. No Foot. No Purple Dragons. And the crime rate's gone down – the lowest since 2000! I didn't think it was possible! And the weather's been great, we've been patrolling like usual, but like I said, nothing much is happening and –_

_I guess should stop rambling, huh?_

_Leo, I miss you. We all miss you. Things in the lair just hasn't been the same since you left. Raph's getting madder, he's acting like he's been caged or something. He snaps all the time. He's been spending more time in the dojo more than he has our whole lives. Everyday all I hear is him punching that bag to oblivion. I don't like it._

_But that's only if he's even in the lair. He's been disappearing for some time now, coming back half-dead and exhausted but angrier than ever. I've tried, y' know, talking to him. Make him see sense like you do._

_The only thing that got me was a shiner that lasted me a few days._

The sounds of rustling clothes and a small groan made Leonardo look over the rim of the paper to see half-closed blue eyes blearily blinking at him from the fire.

"Leo…?"

OoOoO

A.N: Cliffhanger? What cliffhanger?

Also, in case you are wondering, the reason I haven't been updating lately is because of a) school; and b) NaNoWrimo.

That's…it, I guess. Bye…?


	7. Chapter 7

VII.

"Leo…?"

Leonardo carefully tucked the paper away, never taking his eyes off Other. He seemed so small then, like a child.

Leonardo supposed he was.

Standing up and dusting himself off, Leonardo crossed the cave and stopped in front of Other. Other's eyes widened, all blue and hopeful and all too trusting. Leonardo wasn't sure how to feel about that. Crouching down in front of him, Leo took out a couple of fruits he had scrounged earlier and wordlessly offered it to the smaller turtle.

Other's gaze was immediately re-directed to the fruit, and he swiped them from Leonardo's hand. He wolfed them down, the subtle growling in his stomach a sudden reminder of his hunger.

Leonardo stepped back to give Other some space.

The moment he put one foot back, however, Other's eyes bulged and he immediately dropped the food. Leonardo was about to ask him what was wrong until Other decided to lunge for him.

Leonardo almost pulled his swords out from pure reflex, but then he felt the weight of two all too bony arms encircle his shoulders while a silently sobbing…_boy _buried his head into the blue-banded turtle's chest.

"_Leo…I knew you'd come back,_" the boy's muffled words reached Leonardo's ears, and his mind before he even touched the hilt of his sword. His arms froze mid-way, before slowly dropping back to his waist. His eyes searched for a sign, anything to tip him off this was just an act (It was so _wrong, this boy was in serious need of help yet he just…couldn't help being cautious_) …but nothing.

Leonardo found nothing.

And he had nothing but the nearly nostalgic voice reminiscent of his father saying, "_Help him. Help your brother._"

_But he's not our brother, _the voice he found in the jungle hissed, _He's a clone; a threat, a—_

_Boy, he's just a boy,_ Leonardo answered, his arms still at his sides while the boy continued to sob, _He can't possibly be a threat. Look at him!_

_Looks deceive; I thought we already learned our lesson on this!_

_…Well, yes, but…!_

_We cannot trust him! We don't know where he's been, who he's working for, we don't know __**it; **__ We should kill him!_

_He's—_

_THREAT! THREAT! A THREAT! __**DANGER**__!_

_I—_

_HOW MANY TIMES DO WE NEED TO DIE FOR YOU TO LEARN YOUR LESSON—_

_SHUT UP!_

And without thinking, Leonardo raised his hand and delivered a firm chop to the nape of the boy's neck.

oOoOo

He heard someone choke before all he could see was black.

Michelangelo came to once more hours later, next to a burnt out fire, a pile of fruit and a single sword with a hilt wrapped in blue.

He shot up, ignoring the sting in his limbs and the lightness of his head, staggering as he stood. He leaned against the wall for support, and idly noticed how his wounds seemed to have been wrapped up tight with clean bandages.

However, the sword was taking up the majority of his attention. And as he stumbled to reach it, Michelangelo couldn't help but smugly claim to the voices in his head:

_I told you so!  
><em>  
>oOoOoOoOoOo<p>

Author's Notes: Short, this one. If you want me to explain why I couldn't update sooner, I busted my keyboard and had a nasty case of writer's block. Oh, and real life.  
>That's all for now.<p> 


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